


Two Little Knights

by HorizonTheTransient



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 17,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27994755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HorizonTheTransient/pseuds/HorizonTheTransient
Summary: A shorter, character-focused story about Dean Stansfield and his, for lack of a better term, "evil opposite."Fair warning, this is a mostly-complete first draft of a fic that died in its second draft because doing it the right way would've been very unpleasant for me. This isn't what I wanted it to be, and it's going to have some serious flaws, but the jokes are still funny, so I'm posting it anyways just to wash my hands of it.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22





	1. Man of Bronze 1.1

Dean spat into the sink, then pulled the bottle of mouthwash out of his bag. He'd never been  _ careless _ with his dental hygiene before, but in recent years, he'd started paying extra care and attention to it, even going so far as to brush and rinse after  _ every _ meal, even lunch. Anything less, anything that even  _ might _ become a cavity was something for Amy to give him a hard time about.

After he put away the mouthwash, out came the salicylic acid soap, and the electric face-scrubbing brush. He could flatter himself to think it was his personality that made him attractive all he wanted, he'd still do everything in his power to keep the goddamn acne away. If nothing else, then as a courtesy to Victoria.

He frowned at a little red spot on the corner of his chin, that threatened to become a pimple, and he applied a bit extra salicylic acid to it. His chin was visible enough, he wasn't  _ this _ desperate for help.

Dean rinsed off the soap, and patted his face dry with a paper towel, before looking in the mirror again.

"...Blech," he muttered. "Getting downright  _ pasty. _ Need to get out more,  _ without _ the armor. Let the people admire the view."

He chuckled a little to himself, packing away the tube of soap and drying off the brush. He was handsome enough- easy on the eyes, he liked to think of it- and decently tall, but he knew damn well he wouldn't turn many heads. But apparently, he managed to turn the right one.

Dean sighed a little as he thought about Victoria, and his impending Wards shift. She saw so much potential in his powerset, and expounded upon it at length when the mood struck her- he was a Blaster that could do "psychic damage," in her words, as well as a Thinker who could pick people out of the fog of war, or darkness, or even from behind thin walls. To hear her tell it, he should've been a mighty cape, able to punch well above his weight class thanks to his ability to more-or-less bypass conventional Brute powers.

To hear his performance reports tell it, however, he was just a model citizen with a flashlight.

It was his job. He  _ should _ be the amazing fighter she thinks he can be. But... he just didn't want to hurt anyone. That wasn't  _ unreasonable, _ was it? The world would be a whole lot better if everyone was as careful about not hurting anyone as he was. But, not everyone was, and that's why he even  _ had _ a job. Why he drank that vial.

He found himself staring into his own deep, cobalt blue eyes.

Five years ago, they'd been brown.

* * *

Dean walked into the Wards' common area, and the first person he saw was Rory.

Dean wasn't terribly fond of Rory, on the balance- Rory was a touch too cavalier, too nonchalant about everything. Not like Dennis' habit of filling uncomfortable silences with inappropriate humor, but... just a general feeling that whatever was happening, Rory didn't think it mattered as much as everyone else thought, and was continually surprised when he learned that.

Still, a seventeen year old boy whose biggest flaw was that he was mildly irresponsible and insensitive was doing  _ quite _ well for himself, and Dean didn't think it was worth giving Rory a hard time about it. He'd be nice and polite, like he always was. It was hardly like Rory had earned anything else.

Of course, there was the question of what  _ Dean  _ earned this way- it  _ had _ in fact occurred to him that his policy of being nice to everyone, even if he didn't particuarly like them, had engendered a likewise kindness in Rory, resulting in more favorable and flexible schedules, and other little benefits that inevitably came from being nice to your boss.

He shook his head clear. "Afternoon, Triumph. How's your day been so far?"

"Barely started it, but I can tell it's gonna be another doozy," he muttered. "I swear, it's like they expect me to do  _ work _ around here." He grinned, and Dean shook his head again, grinning back, feigning feigned disapproval. "But, since we're both early, and today's kinda dead... can you keep a secret?"

"Of course I can," Dean said, affronted. "After all, I didn't tell anyone about the-"

"Alright, alright, I believe you," Rory said, before dropping his voice to a whisper. "Okay, so. You didn't hear this from  _ me _ \- in fact, you didn't hear this  _ at all, _ but... we've got a new recruit coming down the pipe."

Dean carefully did  _ not _ correct him- it was down the  _ pike _ \- but instead nodded. "Learned anything interesting in the past two weeks?"

"Month, actually," Rory said.

"Oh, that's longer than standard," Dean said.

"Yep, because  _ we _ are getting a new Tinker, and  _ that _ means our new prima-donna's gonna need extra time to get ready for prime-time," Rory said. "Here's hoping Tinkers don't get all catty around each other."

"They generally don't, no," Dean said. "But, honestly, I'm just glad we have some more manpower on the team. Besides, Tinkers are rarely useless."

"Yeah, true that," Rory said, nodding. "God, things are just going to the  _ dogs. _ Between Lung throwing his big scaly dragon dick around and Empire 88 keeping that pissing match going, there's  _ also _ those fuckin' junkies and smugglers banding together- the Merchants, they're calling themselves. They may be small-time now, but you mark my words, they  _ will _ get stronger over time, and soon enough we'll have  _ another _ problem on our radar. And that's not even getting into that Coil asshole, or those Undersiders assholes,  _ or _ Faultline's merry men."

"Mmn, yeah," Dean said, nodding. He wasn't completely certain Rory's assessment was an accurate one, but that was a conversation for another time, in another place, with another person. "So, this new Tinker..."

"Right, right. Standard Tinker loadout, you know the drill," Rory said. "Power armor, jetpack, ray guns... You'll get to know him better soon enough, don't worry."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, chances are, the two of you are gonna be permanent designated patrol partners," Rory said.

"Why's that?" Dean asked. "They want someone with more incentive to keep my armor fixed up?"

"Well, aside from the standard loadout, his specialty is rayguns that shoot emotions," Rory said. "They're calling him Valiant. Because his powerset, aside from  _ really being _ a Tinker... is just like  _ yours." _


	2. Man of Bronze 1.2

It was a few days later, on a Friday afternoon, when Dean finally got to meet Valiant.

He and Triumph had been called down to Image as soon as they arrived for their shifts, and led into the back room just behind the interview studio, where Miss Militia awaited him with a man in a big suit of burnished bronze armor. It was  _ imposing, _ seeming to take up more space than it really did, despite its simple, sleek lines that would've looked downright utilitarian if it weren't for the polish and elbow grease that clearly went into it.

The most striking thing, to Dean, was that he couldn't see any sort of emotional aura coming off of them. Chances are, that was Valiant; if Rory was right, then Valiant was some form of emotion-controller, and therefore had some inherent resistance to  _ other _ emotion-controlling powers, including his own vision.

Dean had never really understood that rule. With that one exception, powers tended to be very standalone and one-off, and not interact in such a structured, consistent way. He'd asked Victoria once, and then ten minutes later she yelled at him for falling asleep during her lecture.

"Oh, a new Ward," Dean said, pretending he didn't know this was coming.

"Indeed," Miss Militia said. When Dean had first met her, he'd been surprised to learn that she was  _ not, _ in fact, a native-born citizen of the United States- she had a Texan drawl thicker than cornbread, a testament to her efforts at assimilation. "This is Valiant, our newest Ward."

"Yeah, the Image team either phoned it in, or struck gold, depending who you ask," Valiant said in a surprisingly deep voice- that  _ had _ to be a voice changer in his helmet- looking around. "Which one of you is Gallant?"

"Right here," Dean said, before pulling off his helmet. "Name's Dean Stansfield, out of costume. Pleased to meet you."

Valiant paused for the briefest moment. Then he pulled off his own helmet, revealing...

Dean wasn't gay, but neither was he blind. Valiant was, perhaps, the most beautiful man he'd ever laid eyes upon, with bronze skin, shining copper hair, bright gold eyes, high cheekbones, and a jawline to rival that of a comic book superhero. Gay or blind he might not've been, but  _ jealous... _ well, maybe a little.

"Ned Fieldstone," Valiant said, flashing a grin. Even his voice was impressive- clearly it was  _ not _ a voice changer.

"...Hang on," Rory began.

"Yeah, I'm messin' with ya," Valiant said, chuckling. "Silas Greaves. We've met, actually- back in elementary school."

"That rings a few bells, yeah," Dean said. "You were always a joker."

"We've all got our gifts, and mine happens to be the gift of gab," Silas said, before squinting. "...Say, didn't your eyes used to be  _ brown?" _

"Wh- uh, no?" Dean said, trying to conceal his panic as bafflement.

"Huh, weird, coulda sworn," Silas muttered. "Oh well. Memory makes fools of us all."

"That it does," Dean said, nodding.

"Glad to see you two get along," Miss Militia said. "The two of you have a joint patrol after this interview, and another one next week."

"You sure the greenhorn's prepped and ready for it?" Rory asked.

A voice came through the door. "Channel Four's ready for us."

"We're about to find out, aren't we?" Silas asked, putting his helmet on and heading for the door.

* * *

Dean wasn't sure why it was necessary that he be there to supervise Valiant's interview- perhaps the higher-ups just wanted him spending as much time with Valiant as possible, early on, to force an acquaintance. But, there he was, standing in the back of the room, listening as the reporter and Valiant talked.

"Good evening, Brockton Bay, I'm Stan Vickery, and I'm here with Brockton Bay's newest hero, Valiant. That's an interesting name you've got there, Valiant, why don't you tell us how you got it?"

Valiant leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Well," Valiant said after a brief pause. "Depending on who you ask, either the Image team phoned it in, or they struck  _ gold-" _ Wait, had Dean been there to give Valiant another chance to practice his interview? "See, my power's a whole lot like Gallant's, down to the electric knight aesthetic, so we're going to be best friends now. Valiant, Gallant... But,  _ man _ , you should've  _ heard _ some of the knight-themed names they were throwing around. Bannerlord. The Baron."

"Reminds me of that fighter pilot from World War One," Stan said.

_ "Exactly! _ Exactly," Valiant said, and Dean could  _ hear _ the easy grin in his voice. "Yeah, it took a few tries. As any parent can tell you, names are hard. But, I'm glad we settled on Valiant."

"Well, it's a good name,  _ I _ think," Stan said. "So, your power- you said it was like Gallant's?"

"Right, yeah. I'm a Tinker- I don't shoot lasers or fly or anything like that, not on my own. I build my power, one gadget at a time. And as it just so happens, like Gallant, I'm pretty good at this power armor stuff. Just not good enough to make me that much stronger than the average man."

"Well, if that's the case, what good is the power armor?" Stan asked, knowing a set-up when he saw one, and being  _ more _ than happy to play into it. "Why not just weld some metal together, make  _ regular _ armor?"

"I'm sure the bursar would  _ love _ if I just did that, be a lot cheaper, but Stan, I gotta tell you, armor is  _ heavy," _ Valiant said, before chuckling. "I have to stick a million motors in this thing just so I can walk in it. They had to get me forklift certified before I can even walk down the street!"

"Still worried?" Miss Militia whispered to Rory.

"Real charmer, ain't he," Rory whispered back. "How long'd that take?"

"Nailed the mock-interview on the first try," Miss Militia said. "Really is just like Gallant."

Dean swallowed dryly. "Yeah. Suppose he is."


	3. Man of Bronze 1.3

"You said you couldn't fly," Dean said, as he leaned his PRT-issued patrol bike into a turn.

_ "I said I couldn't fly on my own," _ Valiant corrected him through a helmet mic, up in the air.  _ "My armor's a different story." _

It was their first patrol together, and so far, Valiant had yet to run out of surprises. With the full knowledge that pretty much nothing happened on these Wards patrols, Dean decided that he would try and pry another one out of Valiant.

"So, in the interview," Dean began. "When the reporter asked why you joined the heroes... I know a boilerplate deflection when I see one."

_ "Good eye," _ Valiant said.  _ "The truth is... I'm Jewish." _

Dean blinked a little. "And... Er, I wasn't aware Judaism had a rich martial tradition."

_ "Not any moreso than most peoples, I don't think," _ Valiant said.  _ "No, you're just missing the point. The point is, my grandparents left Greece and fled to America because of the Nazis, and I've made a different choice- I'm staying here, even if it kills me, because those fascist fucks  _ will not _ take my home from me." _

Dean winced. He had... somewhat forgotten about Empire 88, he was forced to admit. It was something he had the luxury to forget. Valiant, though, was afforded no such luxury.

_ "I  _ will _ break the back of this goddamn white supremacist death cult," _ Valiant vowed.  _ "I'm not scared of them.  _ They _ should be scared of  _ me."

"...Well, that's a pretty good reason, all told," Dean said. "Why... didn't you say  _ that?" _

_ "Because it's apparently not very PR-friendly to remind people we do state-sanctioned violence, and especially if it actually  _ means _ anything. Buncha gutless worms..." _

Dean didn't say anything. On the one hand, Valiant had entirely legitimate grievances, and his mission was about as morally sound as any he'd ever personally encountered. On the  _ other _ hand, the fighting was the worst part of the job, in Dean's estimation, whereas for Valiant, the fighting was the  _ point. _

His stomach turned. He hoped their patrols would be quiet ones; outing himself to Valiant as one such gutless worm didn't exactly appeal to him.

_ "Hang on, I see something." _

If there was a god up there, he hated Dean and wanted him to suffer.

"I see it too," Dean said, noticing the pale outlines of fear, anger, and  _ glee, _ coming out of the mouth of an alleyway. Emotions had to be strong, from multiple sources, for him to see them around corners like this, and it was almost  _ never _ a good sign. "Broad daylight... Call it in."

_ "What, and tell the cleanup crew to bring a spatula?" _ Valiant said.  _ "I'm going in, with or without you." _

Protest died in Dean's throat as Valiant flew off, artificially pure fear welling up in the Man of Bronze's palms. He sighed instead, hitting a button on his forearm to switch comms channels. "Console, we've got an incident at 5th, between Taft and Howard. Valiant hared off on his own to investigate, I'm going to back him up, make sure he doesn't get killed."

_ "Copy that, Gallant. Keep that rookie under control, don't let him die on your watch." _

A few guns went off- pistols, most likely, and oh didn't Dean hate that he could tell just by the sound.

"I make no promises. Gallant out."

When Dean pulled up to the mouth of the alleyway, a few seconds later, the fighting was almost over. Valiant blasted a handgun out of a skinhead's hand, and he ran away, fear spiking through him. In the middle of the alleyway, crouched and huddled together, was a young couple.

She was white, he was black.

And beneath Valiant's feet, immobile and insensate, aura weak and made entirely of fear and pain, was Stormtiger.

"Took you long enough," Valiant called over his shoulder, before turning his attention back to the couple. "Are you two hurt?"

"Freaked out a little, but..." the boy- he  _ looked _ about seventeen, but Dean wasn't completely sure- said. He was tall, broad, and, frankly, jacked as hell.

"We'll live," the girl said. She looked about the same age as the boy, with a far more slight build, dirty blonde hair, green eyes, and freckles. "Thanks for the save."

"My pleasure," Valiant said. "And now... for the less exciting parts. Names?"

* * *

After things had calmed down, the PRT got involved, their patrol was called short early, and everyone left, Dean finally broached the subject on the way back to headquarters.

"What...  _ what _ was  _ that _ all about?" he asked.

_ "Hrm?" _

"I get that you aren't exactly fond of Empire 88, but you had no way of knowing that  _ they _ were what was causing that problem," Dean said. "What made you hare off like that?"

_ "Au contraire, I had an excellent way of knowing: it's called understanding statistics and demographics." _

Dean didn't say anything, trying to think up a way to call him out for being evasive without necessarily saying so outright.

_ "But, that's an evasion," _ Valiant admitted.  _ "Truth is, I simply am not scared of anything, and I'll confess, that  _ may _ have impaired my impulse control a little. See... I'm not  _ just _ restricted to positive emotions, with my power. I'm also able to project  _ negative _ emotions." _

"...I fail to see the correlation," Dean said. "I can shoot negative emotions like fear beams as well. Are... are you suggesting that you've trained up an immunity to fear by injecting it straight into your brain?"

_ "No. That's not what I mean by negative emotions. Not  _ unpleasant _ emotions, but the  _ absence _ of emotions. As easily as I can fill someone with fear, or joy, or sorrow, I can empty them of it, too. That, right there, is why they  _ really  _ called me Valiant: because the first thing I did to myself, when I had my trigger event, was I stuck a chip in my brain so I'd never have to be scared of anything ever again." _


	4. Man of Bronze 1.4

"So. New guy  _ immediately _ fucked up a villain, huh?" Victoria asked.

"It was like a bull seeing red," Dean said, nodding. "Just as  _ soon _ as he saw Stormtiger- he let me know what he was doing, but he didn't actually care what I had to say, like 'hang on' or 'we need to call this in' or 'please don't get yourself killed.' And then... yeah. He broke Stormtiger's back with his foot and an anti-gravity flight pack."

It was, at the very least, nice confirmation that Silas was a natural cape, rather than getting his powers from a bottle like Dean had. Only a natural cape was crazy enough to stick wires in his own brain and then pick fights with supervillains who have a body count.

"Oh, it was just Stormtiger?" Victoria asked. "I was  _ gonna _ say he needs to rein it the fuck in, but..."

"Criminals still have rights," Dean said.

"You make a compelling point,  _ however, _ at the same time, we're talking about a Jewish superhero literally breaking a Nazi's back. Grey and nuanced morality, this ain't." She paused. "Where  _ is _ he, anyhow?"

"Getting yelled at, probably," Dean said. "And getting his pay docked to cover your sister's fees."

"Mmn, that's unfortunate," Victoria said. "I, uh... don't suppose you could slip him some cash under the table?

"Probably, yeah," Dean said, nodding. "This latest experiment with the food trucks has my dad convinced that I'm taking his business stuff seriously, so-"

The door opened, and Valiant walked into the room, head high. "What'd I miss?"

"Nothing major," Victoria said. "You're Valiant?"

"No, I'm Sailor Moon," Valiant said.

"Yeah, he's... like that," Dean said wearily. "Well. How did it go with the Director? What's the damage?"

"Politely but firmly asked me to not do that again," Valiant said, shrugging, taking his helmet off and reminding Dean that he was very much a Greek masterwork cast in bronze. "Apparently she gives a lot of leeway when you cleanly take down a villain you catch in the act of targeting civilians. Guess she really  _ does _ care."

"Don't let anyone else hear you say that," Victoria said, mock-warningly. "She's got an image to maintain. Anyhow! Welcome to the cape scene, please don't die, and if you've got any questions, hit me up. I'm always happy to ramble."

"She's quite the cape geek," Dean said, chuckling quietly.

"Oh my, someone who takes their job seriously and is knowledgeable in the relevant subjects, how novel and unheard of," Valiant said, rolling his eyes before turning his attention back to Victoria. "But yes, I'd love to pick your brain on the subject. There's only so much the PRT can teach me in a month, and more perspectives from someone who knows what they're doing can only be helpful. Especially someone who knows how to incorporate personal flight into a fighting style. Name's Silas Greaves, by the way."

"Hey, you managed to figure out flight-assisted kicks just fine on your own," Victoria said, grinning. "But, sure, of  _ course _ you can learn at the feet of the master."

"Hell yeah. You free this evening?" Silas asked. "I'm not supposed to do any actual  _ work _ on Friday after sunset, but I'm pretty sure a nice chat with a new friend over drinks is  _ well _ within the spirit of resting and relaxing."

"Sounds good to me," Victoria said, nodding.

It then occurred to Dean that Silas had more-or-less just asked his girlfriend out on a date, right in front of him.  _ Then _ it hit him that  _ Victoria had said yes. _

Except, no he hadn't, this was all perfectly innocent- Victoria was playing nice and making friends with the new kid, and the new kid was all too eager to learn from a famous local hero. It was all perfectly innocent, and he was just being a jealous asshole.

* * *

That Sunday, Victoria entered the Wards common area from the direction of the labs, followed shortly thereafter by Silas in a well-fitted button-down shirt with the sleeves artfully rolled up to the elbows and close-fitting dark jeans that were exactly tight enough to confirm that he wasn't skipping leg day.

"Oh, Victoria," Dean said from the table, where he was doing homework. "I... wasn't aware you were here."

"Silas wanted to study my aura, see if he could replicate it," Victoria said.

"Made some progress, but no breakthrough yet," Silas said with a shrug. "Oh well. Better luck next time."

* * *

Next Thursday, Dean walked into the exercise room just in time to hear a loud thump and a crash from the closed-off sparring room on the other side, and immediately bolted over to the door to check if anyone needed first aid.

"Alright, good news," he found Silas saying, a tablet in his hand as his armor clattered to the floor. "My armor  _ is, _ in fact, tough enough to take a direct, full power hit from you, and  _ not _ seriously maim me. That oughta make sparring more convenient for us."

"Hell yeah," Victoria said, grinning. "God, it's gonna be  _ awesome _ having a sparring partner that isn't made of spun glass." Then she noticed Dean standing in the door. "Oh, hey Dean. What's up?"

"Heard a crash, came to check in," Dean said. "Looks like everything's fine."

"Yep-"

He didn't wait for an answer before he closed the door.

* * *

"So, how was work?" Victoria asked. It was now Monday evening, when Victoria's schedule and Dean's  _ new _ schedule lined up, and let the two be together and talk. It had also been about a week and a half since Silas had joined the Wards, changing Dean's schedule in the first place.

"Exhausting, frankly," Dean said. "I'd say Silas is soaking things up like a sponge, but really, he's more like a  _ vampire. _ I don't know how he manages to keep this up. I certainly wouldn't be able to."

"New capes are like this, especially when they're hungry," Victoria said with a shrug. "He'll calm down soon enough, don't worry."

"I hope so," Dean said, sighing and then changing the subject. "You know, it's been too long since we've had a proper date night."

"Hm... it  _ has, _ hasn't it?" she said. "Well, we'll just have to fix that, won't we?" She grinned at him, and he grinned back.

"So how does Friday evening after I get off patrol work for you?" Dean asked.

"It... doesn't, actually," Victoria said, suddenly sheepish. "Prior engagement, sorry."

"Oh?" Dean asked. "With who?"

"...Silas."


	5. Man of Bronze 1.5

It was stupid, and Dean was being an idiot about this. He was aware of this. Unfortunately, while admitting you have a problem was the  _ first _ step to solving it, it was hardly the  _ only _ part, and almost never the  _ hardest _ part, either.

Was this it? Was this how it all ended? They found someone who did everything he did, but  _ better, _ and now they were replacing him?

The PRT replacing him certainly hurt- Dean wanted more than anything to be a hero, and if he was going to get away from his parents, this was very nearly his only option- but he'd survive. But  _ Victoria... _

...Maybe it was for the best. He'd admit, he probably wasn't the best boyfriend in the world. After all, what did he actually  _ do _ for her? Provide a sounding board for her off-the-wall theories and, sometimes, a shoulder to cry on?

It wasn't nothing, but right now, it certainly felt that way.

Except, he reminded himself,  _ none _ of that was happening. It was nothing. Victoria was just making a new friend, and there was one scheduling mishap. It was all perfectly innocent, and it was  _ him _ being irrational and jealous and clingy. He shouldn't be getting so torn up inside just because Silas was doing a good job and being happy.

But here he was anyways, and he couldn't talk to Victoria about it because honestly, she really  _ did _ need more friends, and if she had any complaints about Silas, he likely would've heard them already, and torpedoing her newest friendship just because he was being dumb and jealous would've been a tremendously shitty thing to do.

Who else  _ could _ he talk to about this, though? His parents weren't an option- god knows what insanity Dad would propose as a solution, if not outright saying that he should quit the Wards and leave Victoria now that they'd found a replacement for him. Neither was his little brother Roland, who was fourteen and had never touched a girl in his life.

Clockblocker? Maybe. Dennis  _ was _ his best friend- well, the best friend he wasn't sometimes sleeping with- but Dennis was  _ also _ not entirely stable enough for Dean to lean on him. He was also...

Dean felt bad for merely  _ thinking _ this, but Dennis was kind of annoying as hell. He was allergic to sincerity, always trying to lighten the mood even when he really shouldn't.  _ Especially _ when he really shouldn't.

Dean shook his head. Rory? No, Rory probably wouldn't care, or would try to solve the problem himself in a lazy, hamfisted way that'd just make things worse... as a symptom of not really caring, and just wanting Dean's whining to stop. He wouldn't really understand or  _ care _ that Dean needed to commiserate, more than anything.

He was running out of options, until he realized...

Vista.

It felt  _ weird, _ to complain to  _ her _ of all people about his relationship problems, especially considering her uncomfortable little puppy-love crush on him, which he  _ really _ wasn't sure how to disabuse her of, but for all that she was twelve, she was  _ also _ a girl, and was raised with some modicum of emotional intelligence.

He then briefly considered Shadow Stalker, and  _ then _ decided that she didn't count.

Vista it was.

...Provided that he could find her.

* * *

"Hey, Rory, you know where Vista is?" Dean asked.

"No," Rory said, not looking up from his magazine. "I'm not her keeper."

"Uh..." Dean  _ wanted _ to say that Rory kind of  _ was... _ but then thought better of it. "Er, nevermind. I'll keep looking."

* * *

"Training exercise," Carlos said, sitting at the console. Well, sitting in mid-air, because he could fly, but it was at the console. "She'll be back soon though. Why, what's the matter?"

"Just wanted to talk to her," Dean said. "Thanks. Anything you can tell me  _ about _ the training exercise?"

"I don't know the details," Carlos said with a shrug. "Just that it's out in the Boat Graveyard, with some PRT officers as oversight."

"I see, I see," Dean said, nodding, glad that at least she wasn't with Valiant.

"Does it ever bother you that oversight can mean both watching something attentively, and a mistake made because you  _ weren't  _ watching something attentively?" Carlos asked.

"I- th- No," Dean said, wrenched out of his train of thought. "...In fact, I never thought about it that way." He blinked a few times. "I'm sorry, but in fact, I wish I  _ hadn't _ thought about it that way. Now it  _ is _ going to bother me."

"Glad I could help," Carlos said with a grin, before turning back around in midair, and putting his feet up on nothing at all.

* * *

"Oh! Vista, you're back!"

"Heard you were looking for me," Vista said, sitting down next to him on the couch. "What's up?"

"Needed to talk to you in private," Dean admitted. "I just need to complain, and you're the only one I can complain  _ to. _ But,  _ before _ that, how was your day?"

"You okay?" Vista asked.

"Honestly? No," Dean said quietly. "But, it's your turn first- how was your day?"

"It was... pretty good, actually," Vista said. "Today's training thing was actually a lot of fun. Valiant taught me how to make fireworks out at the Boat Graveyard."

Dean blinked a few times. "Beg pardon?"

"I said Valiant taught me how to make fireworks, out at the Boat Graveyard," she repeated, slowly. "I like him, he's cool. Doesn't talk down to me, either. Just walked up the other day, said 'hey, wanna learn how to make fireworks and blow some stuff up?' and that was that. It was a lot of fun."

Dean sighed, before standing up. "Well. I'm glad you had a good day. Hopefully Valiant remains a good friend."

"Uh... Dean?"

"It's nothing, nevermind," he said, walking away.

Talking the rest of it out with Vista wouldn't really have accomplished anything besides making her feel bad, anyhow. Besides, now he knew the truth.

He really  _ was _ being replaced, wasn't he?


	6. Man of Bronze 1.6

Every hero had some kind of answer to the question of  _ why _ they became a hero. Not always a good answer, or a long one, or a deep one, but an answer. Some few truly believed in making the world a better place, one cape fight at a time, like Valiant. Whereas many others believed in having a steady, guaranteed job that paid decently well... like Dean.

It was something he lied about, every time the question came up. He claimed to be just like Valiant, committed to fighting for justice, but it was a lie. He claimed in public to be a Tinker, and  _ that _ was a lie. And when Victoria asked how he got his powers, the story he told her was a lie.

The truth was, he got his powers from the bravest, most defiant and confrontational thing he'd ever done.

Growing up with rich parents was not nearly so pleasant as some people thought. Dean wouldn't claim he had it harder than people who grew up poor, but he  _ would _ claim that he faced challenges they didn't. The weight of his parents' expectations, the  _ obligation _ and  _ understanding _ that he would grow up to become a carbon copy of his father and take over the family business... it was more present in his life than his parents ever were, and nearly as awful and unpleasant.

When he was eleven, he swore he'd find a way out, to be his own man, far away from his parents. When he was twelve, after a year of wracking his brain for ideas, he finally learned about the finer details of the Protectorate and the Wards, from an interview on the news with a hero named Aeon(who was now dead) who openly admitted to being in the hero game for the money.

Up until that point, the idea that superheroes even got paid for what they did had slipped Dean's pitiful twelve year old mind. But it had sparked something in him. For another year, he studied capes and powers as much as he could, how people got powers, and finally, he had a breakthrough, learning something most people never did:

You can, in fact, just  _ buy powers. _ And so with money stolen from his father, Dean did exactly that, and even managed to cover up his theft and purchase. The only people who knew how he got his powers were himself, and the people he'd bought them from.

"That'll be thirteen ninety nine," the cashier said.

Dean passed the woman a twenty dollar bill, and picked up his book. Python Crash Course, the cover promised.

"Your change."

Dean blinked, and hastily shoved the change into his pocket, wishing he hadn't put his wallet away already.

He turned and headed for the door, his attention slipping back to his own thoughts, and away from his surroundings, barely noticing how he almost got hit by a car when he stepped out into the crosswalk. He had the right-of-way, anyhow.

Dean had bought powers in a vial, and the first thing he did with them is join the Wards. His parents had indulged him at first, thinking of it as an after-school extra-curricular. As the years wore on, though, they began to realize the truth: his status as a Ward wasn't a resume padder, or an excuse to get out of the house. It was a well-paying government job that they couldn't take from him.

Rich men were like dragons, hoarding wealth and power and anything else they could lay their hands on, and burning with jealous rage whenever they 'lost' something that was 'theirs,' regardless of any reasonable expectation of ownership. As far as Richard Stansfield was concerned, he  _ owned _ Dean, and Dean's employment with the Wards was an unacceptable betrayal.

Nevermind that  _ Armsmaster _ was more of a father to Dean than Richard. Armsmaster wasn't even much of a father, either. He was an arrogant, self-centered, abrasive prick who firmly believed that he didn't need anyone, and  _ yet, _ Dean liked him more than he liked Richard, because Armsmaster never inflicted himself on anyone uninvited, and sometimes could even bring himself to be useful. Like yesterday, when Dean had asked for advice on teaching himself programming, and Armsmaster had given him a list of book recommendations and a rubber duck.

Dean wasn't sure what the rubber duck was for, but he appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

He had a gameplan, now. With the right skills and know-how, he'd be more useful, and he might  _ not _ end up a perpetual sidekick to Valiant, and once again wholly under the thumb and at the mercy of a powerful man. Programming was always a valuable skill, and then there were other vocational training programs on offer from the PRT.

And if he ever found himself out of favor with the Protectorate, and locked into being Valiant's comic relief secretary...

...Well, there was always Austin, or Seattle, or San Francisco. Nice, big tech hubs in the country that were  _ nowhere near _ Brockton Bay. Plenty of work for a self-taught programmer.

Secure in this, Dean set his book in the passenger seat, and started up his car.


	7. Feet of Clay 2.1

"-and that's why I'm no longer allowed to shop at Target," Victoria said.

"...Victoria," Silas said.

"Yes?"

"I asked for help relating to the Wards and getting them to like me."

"You did."

"And then you told me a story that had nothing to do with that."

"Did I?"

"It was a very funny story, and I'm glad you told me, but I fail to see the connection."

"I see, I see," Victoria said, nodding. "Well, I'll spell it out for you, then: you are  _ asking the wrong person. _ I don't know how to get the Wards to like me either."

"But..."

"You, Dean, and Vista are  _ exceptions. _ And frankly, I still don't really get how any of that happened."

"Now hang on, that's three whole Wards, out of-" Silas paused to count on his fingers.

"Eight," Victoria supplied.

"That's a success rate of-" He paused again, his brow furrowing.

"Thirty seven point five percent," she said. "Come on, man, I know you're not this bad at math."

"I will not profane the shabbat with filthy  _ math," _ Silas said, folding his arms and lifting his nose.

"And yet you're perfectly fine with driving a car or using electronics."

"Hey, who's the Jew here, me or you?" Silas asked. "And lemme tell you something, there are few things more quintessential to We Who Wrestle With God than arguing over the details. Me personally, I've arrived at the position that it's more important to observe the spirit of Shabbat by taking it easy and doing nothing productive, rather than observing the technicalities and not being able to carry things- such as the contents of my pockets or even my  _ clothes- _ between public and private spaces. And because I'm Jewish, not Christian, nobody really gets to tell me I'm wrong and that I'm going to hell. For Jews, how you observe the faith is between you and God."

"Hang on, you're asking me for advice to deal with a serious problem- doesn't  _ that _ constitute 'productive work?'"

"No, because it's an activity we are performing while sitting on a couch, watching Mythbusters and eating nachos," Silas pointed out.

"You have a point. Also, how are they?"

"Very good. Thank you for your hospitality."

"If I converted to Judaism, does that mean I would be obligated to  _ not _ cook food for guests if they show up on Friday night?"

"The production of bread, every step of the way from planting to baking, is banned, as is lighting, extinguishing, and feeding a fire," Silas listed off. "The observant Jew who resents company on Shabbat is well-advised to own a gas stove."

"I see, I see."

"However, as someone who watched you make these nachos, I would hesitate to call it  _ cooking. _ You melted a brick of velveeta in the microwave and dumped the resulting gloop over a bag of tortilla chips you emptied into a big mixing bowl, and then tossed them around a few times."

"Some people can't appreciate true art," Victoria said haughtily, folding her arms and lifting her nose.

"I'm sorry to hear you're one of them."

She snorted, and then looked at the screen.

"Oh shit, it's about to happen. Shhh."

They fell silent, watching the few tense moments of silence as Professor Savage and Captain Walrus counted down, and then grinned at the explosion, accompanied by a funky, blues-y guitar-harmonica duo.

"God, I love the Discovery channel," Silas said.

"Mythbusters is, no exaggeration, the best thing that's ever happened to me," Victoria said.

"What, better than Dean?" Silas asked.

Victoria considered this carefully, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

"...Yes," she said finally.

"Understandable," Silas said. "I'm sure he'll appreciate the hesitation."

"Hey, so- I mentioned conversion to Judaism earlier and you didn't at all challenge that, so. Is that... actually a thing people can do?" Victoria asked.

"Yep!" Silas said. "Jews don't proselytize, and in some cases even have a tradition of discouraging conversion. But, it does still happen. Usually, because someone's marrying a Jew and interfaith marriages are banned by most denominations,  _ but, _ sometimes people do convert simply because they want to be a Jew for the sake of being a Jew. Hell, in some denominations, that's the only officially acceptable reason for conversion."

"Is there some kinda, like... formal process, or..."

"There is, yes. There's formal courses you can take at a synagogue or a community center, or even some community colleges. You start there, then convince a rabbi that you're sincere, then ritually submerged in the nearest body of water if no mikveh is available, then you pick a Hebrew name, and then you're just as Jewish as I am, and anyone who says otherwise is wrong."

"What, are you a convert, too?" Victoria asked.

"No, I'm a Greek Romaniote with more than two thousand years of unbroken Jewish ancestry," Silas said. "Anyhow, I'm done infodumping. Your turn again. How the hell do I befriend the rest of the Wards?"

"If I knew how, I would've done that already," Victoria said, shrugging helplessly. "Look, I  _ told _ you about Masters, right? You and I... We don't exactly end up with these powers because we're social butterflies, y'know? How, exactly,  _ Dean _ managed to be an exception to that, I'm not really sure, but... Well, honestly, we could both stand to learn  _ something _ from him, probably."

"Hrm," Silas murmured.

"Which... might be hard for you, because Dean kinda doesn't like you. So, uh. Maybe start by trying to fix that?" Victoria suggested.

"Do you have any advice for  _ that?" _ Silas asked.

"Not really?" Victoria said. "Dean picked his cape name based on the fact that he's nice to everyone. The fact that he dislikes you is something I'm not really used to, coming from him. Then there's the part where, again, I am  _ not _ a social butterfly, so..."

"Any idea  _ why _ he doesn't like me?"

"Well, I  _ think _ it might be something to do with the fact that we're friends, but I wanna say there's something else to it, too."

"Urgh."

"Honestly... Honestly, I'd say, just talk to him, outside the context of Wards work. Hang out with him and watch a terrible movie or something. Let him associate you with stuff  _ other _ than work."

"You think that'll work?"

"Got any better ideas?"

"...Point."


	8. Feet of Clay 2.2

"So, got any plans for Friday night?" Silas asked.

Dean blinked in surprise- he and Silas didn't talk much anymore, outside of patrols. Silas wasn't blind; he was quite aware that Dean didn't share his drive to get better, and that he was mostly just pissing Dean off and wasting his time.

"I... don't really see how that's relevant?" Dean asked. "Don't you have to go home before sunset on Friday and  _ stay _ there until Saturday night?"

"What, I can't take an interest in my patrol partner's life, ask how it's going?" Silas asked.

"...Well, if you  _ must _ know, we were planning on doing movie night here, the other Wards and I," Dean said.

"Sounds like fun," Silas said. "What should I bring?"

"But- sunset-"

"That's a misconception I've done nothing to discourage," Silas said. "I just can't do anything that constitutes  _ work _ during the Shabbat. There's a lot of varying interpretations on  _ what _ constitutes work, but I don't consider driving home to qualify. Nor do I consider watching a movie with friends to qualify. Anyhow, I think I'll bring a big bottle of ginger ale."

Dean stared, blankly, at the book on the table in front of him.

"Seeya then!"

* * *

Watching Silas blithely steamroll the other Wards' token resistance on Friday evening put Dean on edge; he wasn't  _ completely _ sure that everyone was mad at  _ him, _ specifically, for "inviting" Silas along, but he was reasonably certain that  _ someone  _ was.

The discovery that the other Wards, save for Vista and Shadow Stalker, didn't like Silas was one Dean wasn't sure how to feel about. On the one hand, it certainly assuaged the feeling that he was being replaced by Silas- nobody would replace the boy  _ everyone _ liked with the boy  _ no one _ liked, after all.

On the other hand, it was slightly worrying that Silas, apparently, could only be bothered to behave himself when there was a girl watching. And as right now demonstrated, sometimes not even then.

"Alright,  _ fine, _ let's just watch the fucking movie already," Rory muttered, picking up the remote and hitting the play button.

"...This isn't Pirates of the Caribbean," Carlos said.

"Nope, it's Highlander 2," Silas said.

"I hate you."

"Love you too, bud-  _ ow!" _

* * *

"This is fucking unwatchable," Sophia said, having gone and grabbed a thick tome titled 'The Complete And Unabridged Works Of William Shakespeare' from her room, in a weak attempt at a joke that still sparked more joy in everyone than the rest of the movie had. "Good god, turn it off."

"It's not  _ over _ yet," Silas said.

* * *

"So who would win in a fight, astronauts or Native Americans of the, like, Columbian era?" Vista asked. Everyone was trying their best to ignore the movie, except for Silas, who couldn't stop giggling for more than a few seconds.

"Well, that depends on who we're talking about," Dean said. "I think the space suit would be pretty decent soft armor, so you'd need pretty good pointy weapons to get through it. So like, if we're talking flint spears... I don't think so. But I think I heard that, like, the Incas had metal tools, so I think they stand the best chance."

"What about the Aztecs?" Dennis asked. "Didn't they have, like, obsidian?"

"The Aztecs would drag them up to the top of a pyramid first," Dean said.

"Or feed 'em to a giant dinosaur," Chris added.

"I'm sorry,  _ what?" _ Dennis asked.

"There's a new Sci-Fi channel movie tonight, called uh, Aztec Rex?"

"WE COULD HAVE BEEN WATCHING  _ THAT!" _ Dennis yelled at Silas.

"You really think that would've been better than  _ this?" _ Silas asked, pointing at Sean Connery making a public nuisance of himself at Shakespeare In The Park.

"I don't believe  _ anything _ called Aztec Rex could be worse than this," Dennis said.

* * *

"Aaaaaaaaand boom goes the dynamite," Silas said.

"Great, it's over, turn it off," Rory said.

"Nope, that's the  _ climax, _ we gotta get the resolution, too," Silas said.

"Oh joy."

"Man, just  _ listen _ to that soundtrack-"

"I hate your guts," Carlos said. "Why are you making us watch this?"

"Your tears nourish me- OW! Damnit, that's gonna leave a bruise."

* * *

"So, I've got some questions for you all to take turns answering, as this all winds down," Silas said. "What's your favorite part of Highlander 2, if you could change one thing about Highlander 2 what would it be, and if it was a dog what kind of dog would it be?"

"My favorite part of Highlander 2 is the part of my life that came before you made me watch it," Dennis said. "If I could change one thing about it, I would change the fact that the DVD wasn't microwaved. And if it was a dog, it would be a rabid coyote, because it's awful and I hate it and I want to get it away from me before it completely ruins my life."

_ "My _ favorite part of Highlander 2 is the fact that it retroactively ruins Highlander 1, which I didn't really like all that much," Chris said. "If I could change one thing about it, I'd change it to make it even more cringe-inducingly bad, maybe throw in a few racial slurs, so that Highlander fans would have even more to be ashamed about. And if it was a dog, it would be a really big dog, back in the days when it was socially acceptable to just walk up to your neighbor's house, knock on the door, and then talk in the doorway for like five minutes, and during those five minutes that really big dog took a really big shit on your porch and now the owner is gone and you have to clean it up yourself."

"Hey, the soundtrack is good!" Silas protested. "Come on, why aren't you appreciating this fine rock ballad?"

"Because this movie should be turned off by now," Carlos complained. "We're watching the  _ fucking _ credits to  _ Highlander 2!" _

"Don't you want a list of people to hate?" Silas asked.

"I have one, and it's  _ you," _ Dennis said, meaning every word of it. "These people may have made the movie, but they didn't force you to play it."


	9. Feet of Clay 2.3

"This is your goddamn fault," Dennis said.

"That wasn't my fault, that was  _ his _ fault for owning Highlander 2 and liking it," Dean protested.

"And why was he even there in the first place?" Dennis asked. "We picked that time  _ specifically because _ that asshole wouldn't be there to notice it.  _ Someone _ told him, and I'm  _ pretty sure _ it wasn't Vista."

"Look, you  _ know _ what Silas is like when you have something he wants," Dean said.

"I also know what  _ you're _ like when someone wants something from you," Dennis said flatly. "You've got less backbone than a fucking  _ Twinkie. _ Unless you mean to tell me you  _ like _ the motherfucker. Well,  _ before _ last night."

"I didn't, I swear," Dean said. "But... I wasn't aware  _ you _ didn't like him, either."

_ "Nobody _ likes him, except Shadow Stalker, who's a fucking weirdo that thinks a punch in the face is a valid way to say hello," Dennis said. "He took Carlos' durability as free license to break his spine in a sparring match, he's super fucking condescending to Chris about his disabilities and Tinker stuff, he never listens to anything Rory says, and one time, completely unprompted, he rolled out an entire fucking open mic standup act about my costume making Flava Flav feel inadequate."

"...Who is-"

"The musician dude who plays a billion instruments and wears a whole clock as a necklace."

"Ah." Dean nodded, then sighed. "God, I had...  _ no _ idea he was this  _ bad. _ I figured... I mean, Victoria seems to like him just fine, so..."

"She's also raised by a fucking cult, so maybe she's just built up a tolerance to self-centered assholes," Dennis said.

"...A  _ cult?" _

"Yeah, New Wave," Dennis said. "You know all those people who talk about the Wards like  _ we're _ child soldiers? Those poor fucks at New Wave are that, but for  _ real. _ Us, if we don't like it, we can walk. We've got the cover of a mask, the option to quit. They  _ don't. _ And  _ then _ there's the fact that blood's pretty thick, and they've been raised by superheroes... Just promise me that, if you two  _ are _ long-term, you pull her out of there, instead of leaving to join her."

"That's not a cult," Dean said.

"You know what I mean," Dennis said. "It sure as hell isn't  _ healthy. _ It  _ also _ isn't the point."

"Then what  _ is?" _

"The fact I'm mad at you for giving that motherfucker an in! We  _ all _ are- the others made me come talk to you alone, on account we're friends. And since Silas is  _ your _ goddamn patrol partner, he's  _ your _ goddamn problem. Grow a pair and  _ fix it." _

* * *

"Oh, hey, there you are," Silas said, grinning and looking up from his book, his feet up on the table. "What's up?"

"We need to talk," Dean said.

"We already are," Silas said.

Dean's shoulders and back tensed, and his blood boiled. He hated this. He hated Silas. He hated Dennis for putting him up to this. He hated  _ himself _ for going through with it. But more than that, he hated  _ Silas, _ for making this necessary, for putting him in this situation in the first place.

"Would you quit being a dick for once in your miserable fucking life?!" Dean snapped.

Silas blinked in surprise, setting his book face-down on one thigh, and Vista quietly left the Wards common room.

"...Are you okay?" Silas asked.

"No!" Dean yelled. "Because  _ I _ have to clean up  _ your _ goddamn mess! I'd ask if you  _ ever _ stop to consider how anyone  _ else _ feels before you do whatever you want, but I've  _ met _ you, and I  _ know _ the answer is no."

"Oy, what's gotten into you?" Silas asked, taking his feet off the table. "What's this about?"

"Be stupid on your own time," Dean said. "You know  _ damn _ well what I'm mad about."

"Believe it or not, I'm not actually a mind reader," Silas said. "Now are you gonna stand there screaming like a child, or are you going to act like a man and tell me what the problem is?"

"...Are you... _actually_ this dumb?" Dean asked. "Have you not _noticed_ how you've systematically alienated every last one of your coworkers, one by one _and_ _then_ all at once, just for good measure?"

"...What do you mean all at on-"

_ "Nobody enjoyed movie night," _ Dean said. "This was obvious to  _ everyone with eyes. _ You forced yourself in where you weren't wanted and deliberately pissed off  _ everyone _ for  _ two entire hours. _ And you're  _ surprised _ nobody enjoyed that?"

"I thought it was funny-"

"That's your goddamn problem!" Dean yelled. "You don't care about anyone's feelings but your own! Everyone else is just a prop, a side character, in the story of your life, there to service you or be set dressing, and the fact that  _ they _ have goals and feelings  _ doesn't matter." _

Silas blinked, edging back in his seat.

Dean sighed quietly, most of the anger having left him in that outburst, before turning around and heading for the door. He paused in the doorway, barely turning back to look at Silas. "You're going to spend the rest of your life alone."


	10. Feet of Clay 2.4

Silas stumbled into his workshop, something slithering and building up pressure behind his eyes. He screwed them shut tightly as he blindly made his way to the table, groping in the dark for something.

Finally, he found it, and pressed a big red button on a big black box. The maelstrom behind his eyes slowed and stilled, the emotion draining out of him like blood from a corpse, leaving only cold calm behind.

He breathed in deeply and steadily.

"Okay," Silas said quietly. "That... backfired spectacularly. What happened, happened. What am I going to do about it?"

He opened his eyes and looked around. Step one was to sit down. To that end, he leaned over, reaching for a nearby stool, just barely out of reach. He grunted and nudged the black box, and finally laid hands on the stool, pulling it over so he could sit on it. All with his hand still on the black box, the red button still pushed.

"The problem is me," Silas said. "The problem was  _ always _ me, wasn't it?" He shook his head and forced a weak grin. "Been watching too much anime. A change in surroundings... no, no of  _ course _ that won't solve anything. The problem wasn't them. The problem was me. Fortunately..."

Silas turned his gaze upon the rest of his workshop.

"...I'm very good at solving problems."

Silas frowned at the black box. It was, in essence, an emotional black hole- the pinnacle of negative emotions, capable of draining every last emotion from his mind in an instant, rendering him as coldly calculating and emotionless as Mr. Spock.

Unfortunately, it had some design flaws. If he stopped pressing the button, it would stop working. Also, it had to be plugged in, because he hadn't felt like sticking a battery in it at the time.

Grabbing a wrench with his free hand, Silas set about fixing those flaws. Within five minutes, it had the form factor of an anti-static wristband, and Silas could get up and start working while maintaining the sober clarity he so desperately needed.

"Alright. The problem is me... and more specifically, the fact that I am largely ignorant and apathetic of the feelings of others," Silas said. "Dean is hardly the first person to point that out to me. So, I need to fix that. And frankly... I need to fix it  _ now, _ before I do any more damage. This  _ might _ be salvageable, as-is, but every fuck-up is going to make it less likely, and  _ definitely _ harder. So."

He frowned, tapping his chin.

"What would Armsmaster do?" he asked himself. "I mean, setting aside the fact that he lives like this on purpose because relationships are a liability. He would... probably go through psych reports, build a rigorous psychological model of the team, do some machine learning and feed it into a miniaturized HUD, let the machine guide him through the situation. It'd be bad at first, but it just needs to be better than me, which is a low bar."

He grabbed a notebook from a small shelf on top of his workbench, with a 2 stamped on the spine of this one in particular, and flipped it open.

"...Unfortunately, I can't do that, because I'm not Armsmaster," he muttered. "I  _ change _ minds, I don't  _ make _ them. Okay, what would  _ I _ do? Well, I've successfully duplicated Victoria's aura. I bet I can use that as a delivery mechanism for something  _ other _ than awe, and if I radiate joy directly into people just by being near them, they'll come to associate me with happiness, and  _ eventually, _ someone will be actually happy to see me."

He grinned, then frowned.

"Except, that's mind control, and thereby every kind of bad idea," Silas said. "Okay, okay. What would  _ Dean _ do?" He paused, before shaking his head. "No, I  _ already _ asked Victoria to solve the problem for me, and that just made it worse. But! There's something Dean  _ has, _ which is useful, which I have already successfully mimicked."

He reached for another notebook, the first in the series, and flipped to his schematics for his helmet's sensor suite.

"Thank god for Armsmaster," Silas murmured. "Yes, yes, I see now how I could make this smaller.  _ Much _ smaller. I'll be able to see emotions  _ all _ the time, not just when I'm armored up.  _ Perfect." _

He grabbed another notebook and a pen, and began to jot down a revised schematic.

"This...  _ this'll _ fix it all up." He grinned, then blinked, and glanced down at the wristband, which was gently smoking. "...That's what I get for rushing."

He pulled the anti-emotion wristband off and tossed it aside. He didn't need it anymore. He was in the zone naturally, everything else having fallen away but him, his wits, the problem, and the solution. More than being good at solving problems, Silas enjoyed solving problems.

"Well. I'll do this empathy chip  _ properly," _ Silas muttered, before chuckling. "A surgically-implanted sense of empathy. Truly, modern medicine is marvelous. Ah, but wait. It's not going to be enough if I just  _ see _ emotions. I mean... I'm not completely blind and deaf, and I've knowingly steamrolled people before... I need to train myself to  _ not _ do that. So, some sorta feedback mechanism... like  _ actual _ human empathy is supposed to work, supposedly."

He flipped the page and started sketching again.

"This Tin Man is his own goddamn wizard," Silas muttered. "I don't got a heart? Fine. I'll  _ make _ one."


	11. Feet of Clay 2.5

Silas did not, naturally, have empathy. He was aware of this, and had been for some time. On its own, it was tremendously inconvenient, and the cause of...  _ probably _ half of the problems in his life. When he tried to look for resources on his own, find something that might help...

..."Sociopath" and "narcissist" got thrown around a lot, and almost always in the sense that they were inherently awful and abusive monsters. Silas wouldn't dispute that he usually wasn't pleasant to be around, but everyone else got to walk away from him. He didn't.

At any rate, with his latest implant, those days were over. Gone were the days of grasping for straws and having absolutely no goddamn clue how anyone felt about or around him. Now he would know exactly how people around him felt, and be able to adjust accordingly.

In theory, at least. In practice...

It wasn't a problem with his implant. His technology was not glitchy in the slightest. He was considered lucky in this regard by Armsmaster- most Tinkers suffered, to some degree, faulty equipment, or gear that otherwise wouldn't, for whatever reason, perform to specification. Silas' technology  _ didn't. _ There were no glitches, no hidden features, no side effects. Everything he built worked exactly as intended. If he worked hastily, then it would only work for a short while, but it would still work perfectly while it did.

And because he had intended to build a brain chip that would tell him when the people around him felt bad, and  _ then _ forcibly make him  _ feel bad _ as a result, that chip did exactly what it was supposed to do, and if he didn't like it, he only had himself to blame.

Silas went through the motions of his classes at Arcadia, an overcrowded school full to bursting with teenagers living in one of the worst cities in America, and he spent every moment of it marinating in the morass of melancholies and miseries that everyone carried with them, and blaming himself for failing to realize this obvious problem.

Empathy is not social skills. Empathy is empathy. Empathy is useful for building social skills, but in the same way that cleverness is useful for moving a couch: serviceable but not sufficient. Without the rest of the pieces, all that this empathy was doing was making him miserable and wish for an off switch.

An off switch he had deliberately not included, because he was a stubborn, prideful, arrogant fool. He resolved to rip the damn chip out later today, once he got back to the lab, and replace it with a better solution to his problems. Perhaps something that'd stop him from needing, or even particularly  _ wanting, _ human companionship. It may not do much to make him more pleasant, but he wouldn't care once it was in.

A thought that struck him was that Dean had to live with this every day of his life. No wonder he was so eager to please- he just wanted the hurting to stop, even if just for a moment. Silas couldn't bring himself to say more than a word at a time, not that anyone paid enough attention to notice.

The next thought that struck him was the grimly humorous realization that, for all his fearlessness, he had less fortitude in the face of other pressures than even  _ Dean. _

Another thought that struck him, about ten minutes later, was a reflection on his conclusion about teenagers and their emotions. Dean dealt with this every day- although he might not have had a dedicated part of his brain that forced him to feel bad about it- but he'd been dealing with it for years at this point. Meaning, Silas had quite a lot of catching up to do.

Finally, he reached a conclusion that made him raise his hand, ask to go to the bathroom, and then sit on the toilet with his head in his hands.

His expectations, he was already aware, about an hour into his first day of school after installing the chip, had been pretty thoroughly dashed. It was a neat idea, perhaps even a good one, but it was not the solution. His tech, his  _ power, _ would  _ never _ be the solution.

He had a lot of catching up to do, and he was going to have to do all of it the hard way.


	12. Feet of Clay 2.6

"Silas is a  _ dick," _ Dean declared, flopping facedown onto the couch. It was Thursday, and Victoria's schedule had recently been modified to share this day off with Dean's.

"I mean," Victoria began, 'sitting down' in midair, above the couch that Dean was hogging. "I'll admit he's got some rough edges, but he's not  _ that _ bad."

"Just because he's nice to  _ you _ doesn't mean he's not a huge asshole whenever you're not looking," Dean said. "He's managed to piss off  _ everyone _ on the team."

"Well, I mean,  _ you _ of all people know how Masters are," Victoria said. "Socially graceful, we are not."

"This isn't your...  _ thing... _ about not liking group social events where you're not the center of attention," Dean said. "Silas is just a huge dick."

"It's more that he doesn't know what the hell he's doing, and 'sarcastic humor' is the only thing he's good at."

"Yeah, well, he's good enough at it that he can piss off  _ all-" _ Dean paused to count the number of Wards on the team.

"Seven, not including him," Victoria supplied.

"All seven of us, to the point where it's agreed that  _ I'm _ the one who has to tell him off for the shit he pulled," Dean said. "Do you know what it's  _ like _ to have everyone be mad at you because of something someone  _ else _ did?"

"That sounds more like the other Wards being awful to you than like  _ Silas _ being awful to you," Victoria said. "Especially because... Okay, honey, I love you, but you are  _ very _ conflict-averse, and not in a thousand years would I trust  _ you _ to convey my grievances- oh, heh, Silas Grievances. There's a pun."

"Victoria."

"Right, right. What the other Wards did to you there was a bad thing, and honestly, probably  _ worse _ than whatever Silas did to you," Victoria said. "Besides, what the hell  _ did _ he do to you? What, did he kill your dog in a skateboarding accident?"

"He invited himself to movie night, which we scheduled on Friday night specifically so he couldn't be there-"

"Kind of a dick move."

"I know, right?"

"No, I mean on  _ your _ part," Victoria said. "It's one thing to specifically not invite Silas, but it's another entirely to exploit his religion as a means to exclude him." She tapped her chin contemplatively. "The fact that you fundamentally misunderstood his religious restrictions to the point where your attempt to exclude him didn't work is also not a great look, but I'm pretty sure it's more funny than anything else."

"Wait, that's a religious restriction?" Dean asked. "I thought his parents just had a curfew or something."

"...Oh my god, you know  _ nothing _ about Jewish people," Victoria murmured. "Okay, so, for Jews, the day begins and ends at sunset. From sunset on Friday to sunset on Saturday is the Sabbath- or shabbat, depending on who you ask. As a Jewish man, Silas is forbidden from performing work during the Sabbath- it's a day of rest. What constitutes work is a subject of debate,  _ but _ some communities would consider turning on a TV to watch a movie to qualify, as would they consider driving a car to count as work. Orthodox Jews, as a general rule, don't leave their immediate neighborhood during the Sabbath."

"Why am I expected to know the minutia of a religion I don't practice?"

"How your patrol partner spends every seventh day of his life is not  _ minutia!" _ She grunted and shook her head. "Whatever.  _ Why, _ exactly, was Silas' mere presence at movie night so odious that everyone else on the team jumped down your throat about it?"

"Well, we were  _ going _ to watch Pirates of the Caribbean," Dean said. "Not a  _ perfect _ movie, but a  _ pretty good _ one. Unfortunately, I say  _ going _ to because  _ Silas _ hijacked the fucking DVD player and made us all watch Highlander 2 instead, and gave us all  _ context _ for those weird men on the internet who yell about how it's the worst movie ever made."

"...I've made a terrible mistake," Victoria whispered.

"What did you do," Dean said, rolling over to glare balefully up at her.

"The short version is, Silas asked me for advice and I told him to watch a terrible movie with you," she said.

"Well, he certainly took it to heart."

"Yeah, I get that," she said. "The thing is, he asked me for advice on  _ making friends with you." _

"...What?"

"He  _ knew _ he wasn't well liked," Victoria said. "He didn't know what he was doing wrong, so he came to me and asked for help and advice, and despite me telling him I'm not much better at socializing than he is, he  _ listened _ to what I had to say."

"Look, what he did isn't your fault," Dean said.

"I don't think you quite grasp what I'm getting at, here," Victoria said. "Silas was  _ trying _ to be your friend, and while I understand he fucked that up  _ royally, _ step back and think about what he  _ actually _ did. Which was... waste two hours of your time on a shitty movie. Now, demonstrate your social superiority over Silas by looking at it from  _ his _ perspective, and consider what  _ you _ did to  _ him. _ Was it... completely explode at him and tell him that everyone hated him, after he attempted to hang out with you and have a good time?"

"...Okay, yes, but-"

"And, therefore, rubbing his nose in his isolation and social ineptitude, reminding him  _ probably _ quite a lot of his trigger event? You know, literally the worst thing that's ever happened to him?"

Dean blinked a few times.

Then he sat up.

"...I've made a terrible mistake."


	13. Feet of Clay 2.7

Silas: help i fucked up   
Vicky: So I've heard.   
Silas: oh god   
Silas: what did you hear   
Vicky: That you trusted my advice and watched a terrible movie with everyone.   
Vicky: I also heard that you 100% should not have trusted my advice.   
Vicky: Which I think I also told you.   
Silas: damnit woman am i supposed to listen to you or not   
Vicky: You absolutely should listen to me, 100%, and also start listening to my podcast too, just to be certain.   
Vicky: But also you should apply critical thinking to what I say and try to figure out where I'm coming from and what, specifically, you should take to heart.   
Silas: hang on do you actually have a podcast   
Vicky: Not yet.   
Silas: ominous   
Silas: anyway i have an exciting new fuckup to tell you about   
Vicky: Ominous.   
Silas: the short version is i developed a surgically implantable sense of empathy- as in knowing what people are feeling   
Silas: then i implanted that in myself   
Silas: and now it turns out this is not in fact a silver bullet for fixing my social skills   
Silas: it just makes me miserable every time im around people because   
Silas: and stop me if youve heard this one   
Silas: brockton bay is not the happiest place on earth   
Silas: so now i need to try a different tack   
Silas: so uh   
Silas: help   
Silas: are you there   
Vicky: Sorry, was asking Mom for legal advice. I want to write a research paper with you as the case study. Do I have your permission?   
Silas: only for a thousand dollars and half the proceeds of the paper   
Vicky: $500 and 20% is the highest I'll go.   
Vicky: Anyway, I will once again remind you that you're talking to the wrong person, and listening to my advice is how you got into this mess in the first place.   
Silas: and i will remind you that i have no other options   
Silas: i am an only child with neglectful parents and the last time i tried asking an adult for help that adult was armsmaster who apparently has no friends on purpose because relationships are a liability   
Silas: well actually no the last one i asked for help was assault   
Silas: he gave me a pickup artist manual which i read all of three pages of before i burned it   
Silas: after i got done burning it i decided to stop asking the protectorate for help and decided to ask you instead   
Vicky: Okay, new theory: every cape is a social mess, and Masters are just the only ones who are particularly bothered by that.   
Silas: so anyway i need you to talk to dean and convince him to help me with this somehow   
Silas: i would ask him myself but for some reason i have the feeling hes upset with me   
Vicky: ...   
Silas: ...   
Vicky: ...So when are you gonna see him next?   
Silas: well we have patrol together every friday so   
Silas: tomorrow   
Vicky: I'll see what I can do. You owe me something shiny, though.   
Silas: do you have a favorite kind of sword   
Vicky: See, this is why I like you.

* * *

"Silas?" Dean called as he stepped into the workshop.

"Deaniel," Silas said, sitting at some sort of computer or console, looking at pictures of swords on the internet. Everyone had hobbies, it seemed.

"...Please don't call me that," Dean said, shutting the door. "Listen, I... wanted to apologize for what I did earlier. It's been... explained to me... that I was overreacting, and taking out some anger on you that had nothing to do with you. I'm sorry."

Silas considered this for a moment, before pressing a button on the keyboard and turning around on his stool. Off to the side, a machine whirred to life, and began cutting a block of bronze.

"Well, a deal's a deal," Silas said.

"...Do I want to know?" Dean asked.

"I owe the Princess something shiny," Silas said, shrugging. "At any rate, I'm... going to have to ask you for help. You can guess what with."

"I'll try and smooth things over with the others, but-"

"No, not that," Silas said. "Look, Dean, for all your faults- and I can give you a dissertation on them  _ later, _ when I'm  _ not _ trying to get you to help me- you are still, somehow, someone that everyone likes. What I need is to know how you do it. How  _ I _ can do it. Or at the very least, how I can stop alienating everyone I talk to."

"Well, the first step is to not  _ at all _ mention that someone has faults when you're asking them for help."

"Slow down, let me grab a notebook."

Dean shook his head, chuckling quietly, and Silas cracked a grin.

"You're serious about this?" Dean asked.

"One of the biggest fears people have, that they don't like talking about, is  _ change, _ and admitting that they were wrong," Silas said. "That's... why I installed the Valiant chip. I knew I needed to change. And that I couldn't afford to be afraid of it." He sighed. "I don't know if I need it anymore, but... either way, right now, I'm not afraid to admit that I'm the problem, and I need to change."

"Even if it means becoming a different person in the process?" Dean asked.

"I'm a different person from who I was this morning," Silas said with a shrug. "Change is a constant. You never step in the same river twice."

"Huh. I suppose I can get behind that," Dean said. "I might need some time to prepare, though. Are you doing anything tomorrow?"

"Nope. Just hanging out with a friend."


	14. Heart of Gold 3.1

"You know, if you play with that thing too much, you'll go blind," Silas said.

"...Because I'll put my eye o-  _ oh, _ it's a masturbation joke," Victoria said, looking up from the bronze khopesh she was lovingly caressing.

"I would appreciate if you two could keep the innuendo to a minimum," Dean said.

"You're asking us to do something really  _ hard," _ Victoria said.

"You have to take these things slow," Silas agreed.

"This is why you don't have friends," Dean said.

"That's fair," Silas said.

"Seriously," Dean said. "Before we get to the lesson proper, I want to belabor the obvious. If there is only one thing you take away from this lesson, it is this: learn to recognize when you're making people uncomfortable, and  _ stop doing that." _

"...Does this include the innuendo?" Victoria asked.

"I want you to guess," Dean said flatly. "And on that note, the lesson proper. The most important part of socializing is the ability to recognize what the other person wants out of the conversation, and then give that to them."

"Question," Victoria said, raising her hand.

"Absolutely not."

"Why are you only now teaching me this?"

"You never asked."

"So how do I tell what someone wants out of a conversation?" Silas asked.

"There we go," Dean said, grinning. "So, the first thing to consider is  _ why _ people have conversations with each other. And, for the most part, there are pretty much two reasons why people talk to each other: for pleasure, or for utility. And with  _ that _ knowledge, it's easier to tell what someone wants out of a conversation, right? Either they have a specific goal they need to accomplish by talking to you, or they just want to have fun."

"That's really vague," Victoria complained.

"Is it really?" Dean asked. "Any conversation that doesn't have an immediately practical purpose is just us humans entertaining each other.  _ Therefore, _ if you want to get better at these conversations, and thereby making friends, then getting better at entertaining people with conversation is an important step along the way."

"Point of order, I'm fucking hilarious and yet nobody likes me," Silas said.

"I like you," Victoria said.

"Correction: only one person likes me, and it's a person who probably needs this lesson as badly as I do."

"...I wanna dispute that, but..."

"Well, Silas, the thing is, you're funny, but funny is not the only way to entertain, and a stand-up comedy act is not funny conversation," Dean said. "You have to talk  _ with _ people. Invite their responses, and then build off of those. You can't launch into a monologue at them like you're some kind of professor and expect them to  _ care. _ People want to be lazy and people want to talk about themselves. You have to cater to these desires. Ask them questions about themselves with easy answers. Let them be lazy. Let them talk about themselves. Take an interest in people, or at the very least, learn how to convincingly fake one."

"So let's say, hypothetically, that I'm genuinely interested in people, but also want to know how to convincingly fake that interest," Silas said.  _ "How?" _

"One. Ask people questions and listen to the answers, and ask  _ more _ questions  _ based _ on those answers," Dean said. "Let them have the spotlight. It helps to have in mind something you want to learn about someone. A good place to start would be... oh, I don't know, try and find out a hobby that they've got, along with a story they have from pursuing that hobby. Or ask about pets, pets are a pretty safe topic too."

"I have a cat," Silas added.

"I-"

"His name is Cyrus."

"...Okay, I'll bite: why did you name your cat Cyrus?"

"Named him after my dad, so that I could convince everyone to call him Human Cyrus instead, making the cat the  _ real _ Cyrus," Silas said. "It was revenge for that son of a bitch naming me Silas when  _ his _ name was already Cyrus."

Dean blinked listlessly.

"So anyway," Dean said. "Next tip. Nobody actually cares about the literal answer to their small-talk questions. Answer a  _ similar _ question, if you've got an interesting answer. Say, someone asks you if you've got plans for the weekend. If you have something interesting coming up in a month? Tell them about  _ that _ instead. Or if you did something interesting a month ago. Tell them about that. You often shouldn't take small-talk at face value; don't give a literal answer, give an  _ interesting _ answer. Victoria!"

"Deaniel!"

"Dear god it's spreading," he whispered. "Er, how's work?"

"Went on patrol the other day and found out they're opening a new drive-in theater," she said. "Thought I'd loiter and see a movie for free, but then it turned out the car I was floating above had a couple in it, and uh. Well, they were-"

"Moving on to tip three because I don't want to have this conversation anymore," Dean declared. "The person you're talking to is the most interesting person you have ever met in your life. You hang off their every word, you're insatiably curious about their stories, and you give them exactly the reaction they want from you and more. Make them comfortable and make them talk about themselves. Find a talk show host you like and emulate them."

"Does Stan Vickery count?" Silas asked.

"...You know what, sure," Dean said. "Stan Vickery counts, and you can probably ask him for pointers. Honestly I think he'd be fucking ecstatic."

"Huh. Kinda reminds me of this idea I read about a while back- ever heard the word 'sonder?'" Victoria asked.

"Not before now, no," Dean said.

"It's the feeling you get when you remember that every random passerby has their own life and internality that's as vivid and complex as your own," Victoria said. "A life and internality that only briefly intersects with your own, and that you'll never be able to fully comprehend and experience."

"I feel like that's slightly more applicable to people who do not have superpowers," Silas said. "But, I get your point. Alright, well, what's next?"

"Well, what's next is  _ practice," _ Dean said. "There's a lot of finer points to cover, but with just those three basic points, I think you're ready to start reinforcing them. Why do you think you're  _ both _ here?"

"Because you love me and enjoy spending time with me?" Victoria suggested.

"...I mean,  _ besides _ that. Anyway! Take turns interviewing each other for... oh, five minutes, let's say. I'll set a timer on my phone. Silas, you're first. Ready? Aaaaaaand...  _ go." _


	15. Heart of Gold 3.2

"Hey."

"Hell do  _ you _ want?"

"To apologize," Silas said. "It has been, uh...  _ explained _ to me, the exact specifics of how much of a dick I was being."

"Explained?" Dennis asked.

"Dean was  _ very _ thorough."

"I bet. No wonder it took this long." 

"So, with the understanding that I completely fucked everything up, but  _ also _ the understanding that we're all more or less stuck with each other for the foreseeable future... mind if I take another swing at it, and we start fresh?"

Dennis considered this carefully.

"...And if I say no?" he asked.

"Then I turn around, walk away, and go bother someone else," Silas said with a shrug. "I'm gonna be totally honest with you: I have a  _ lot _ of people to have this conversation with. You're just the next one on the list."

"How touching," Dennis said blandly. "Fine, whatever. I guess I got a few minutes..."

"So what sorta media are you into?" Silas asked. "Buddy cop movies? Shonen anime? Obscure webcomics that have been running for ten years and haven't finished chapter one?" Dean had elaborated on his lessons; one strategy for making questions easier to answer was giving examples to jog the mind.

"Oh, uh. Well, I'm actually pretty into musical theater," Dennis said.

"As an observer, or an aspiring performer?" Silas asked.

"The fuck you mean  _ aspiring?" _ Dennis asked, affronted. "I'll have you know I've been in five productions already."

"Shit, really? Were any of them Cats, or do you still have your dignity?"

"Ha  _ ha, _ I do not," Dennis said. "I auditioned for Rum Tum Tugger, but I got Mister Mistofelees instead."

"I'm afraid I haven't actually  _ watched _ Cats. I don't really know much about the characters or plot or... anything about it," Silas began.

"Don't worry, neither does anyone who  _ has _ watched it, that play makes  _ no _ sense," Dennis interrupted. "It's not  _ about _ making sense. It's about seeing people dress up as cats and sing stupid songs."

"Fair enough," Silas allowed. "So did Mephistopheles get any good songs?"

"Mister Mistofelees," Dennis corrected him. "And... good is subjective,  _ but _ his  _ real _ thing is having the most demanding dance choreography in the entire play. I had to do  _ twenty four _ fouettes en tournant."

"...I take it that's not a flaky pastry?" Another tip Dean had given him: sometimes, deliberately misunderstanding people can be used to great comedic effect.

"It is not. Also he's a wizard or something."

"...Man, Cats is  _ weird." _

"Yep."

"Are  _ all _ real musicals like this, and it's only Disney and Fiddler on the Roof that are normal and make sense?" Silas asked.

"No, no, it's... Andrew Lloyd Webber is... just, like that," Dennis said. "I mean, Cats is kinda out there... but have you ever heard of Starlight Express?"

"...No, and frankly I'm not sure I want to change that."

"You definitely don't but I'm telling you anyways: it is a musical that is all about anthropomorphic trains."

Silas chewed on this for a moment. "You were right. I definitely did not want to hear about that."

"You think  _ you're _ the only one who can make people suffer with awful media?" Dennis asked. "Fool, I am a  _ theater kid. _ I was  _ born _ in suffering. We have such fine gradations of exquisite awfulness as would rock you to your very  _ core." _

"That and you're also very dramatic," Silas said.

"Yes, that too."

"So besides Cats..."

"Romeo and Juliet, A Comedy of Errors, HMS Pinafore, and..."

"And?"

"...Korczak's Children," Dennis said. "I. Uh. Don't recommend looking it up."

"...It's about the Holocaust, isn't it."

"...Jewish orphanage in the Warsaw ghetto, yeah."

"Right so, Comedy of Errors. Not familiar with that one, not  _ too _ caught up on my Rattled Polearm."

"Ra- oh, Shakespeare. Well, there's two sets of twins,  _ both _ of whom were separated at birth," Dennis began. "And then, in young adulthood, they set out to find each other, and then there was a  _ lot _ of mistaken identity."

"Who were you?"

"It was my first time, so I was a bit part," Dennis admitted. "Pinch, a schoolmaster and conjurer."

"Fair, fair," Silas said. "So, tell me, as someone who's been forcibly immersed in it more than most... what's your read on Shakespeare?"

"He was the lowbrow pop culture of his day, appealing to our baser natures," Dennis said. "Which is to his benefit, really; the only thing that doesn't survive to modern English is all the goddamn puns, and everything else lands more or less the same as it would've back in the day. Not  _ amazing works of art _ you simply  _ have to see, _ but they're pretty good at what they set out to do. As entertainment, people in the modern day can do better... but a lot of 'em do  _ worse. _ Plus, it's widespread common ground."

"And yet I can be  _ pretty sure _ that when Sophia went and grabbed a copy of Shakespeare Unabridged the size of Vista's head, she only owns it because you gave it to her for some reason."

"Perceptive," Dennis said. "Yeah, I help her with her English homework whenever she's gotta write a book report on a play or whatever. She is... She's got her talents, but language and critical thinking aren't among them, let's leave it at that."

_ "I HEARD THAT!" _ Sophia yelled from the other room.

"Aaaaaand I think I'm gonna go hide now," Dennis said. "Been nice seein' ya."

"I'm glad we got that hatchet buried," Silas said.

"Yeah, you're actually pretty fun when you're not being a huge dick," Dennis agreed.

"Be nice to Dean, stop making  _ him _ deal with all your problems, and I'll see you around," Silas said, pulling out his phone. "Alright, next on the list is Chris..."

"Can you do Sophia next instead?" Dennis asked. "Distract her? Help a bro out?"

Silas considered this carefully. "...Nah, you're on your own." The toilet flushed and a door slammed open. "Good luck with that!"


	16. Heart of Gold 3.3

"That's a mezuzah, you'll find one on the doorframe of pretty much every Jewish house," Silas said. "Ashkenazi Jews hang theirs at an angle, and they're the most common Jews in America, but the rest of us hang ours vertically."

"I see," Dean said.

"I bring this up because I want you to kiss your hand and then touch it," Silas said, before demonstrating, lightly kissing the fingertips of his left hand and then brushing the polished brass mezuzah with them. "Don't worry, it's brass, it disinfects itself."

"If you say so..." Dean repeated what Silas did.

"Alright, this way, there's someone very important I want you to meet," Silas said, walking off toward the hallway. Dean followed, but kept his head on a swivel, taking in the house.

For one, it was  _ small, _ and two, while it wasn't dirty, there was a pervasive sense of mismatch, and more than a few things that were dented and cracked. Unlike Dean and Victoria, Silas did not come from wealth, and it showed.

As Silas opened up a doorway at the end of the hall, Dean heard a cat start meowing from the other side of the house, approaching quickly. Silas ushered Dean into his bedroom, followed shortly thereafter by a tiny orange cat.

Silas' room was somewhat small and cramped, his bed pushed into a corner with a desk right next to it, a wooden stool before it and a clearly-new laptop on top of it. The dresser sat across the room from the desk, wide and waist-high, and on top of it, occupying pride of place, was an ornate, intricately hand-carved wooden box, stained dark and inlaid with copper wire. If the multiple Stars of David were any indication, this box held some sort of religious significance to Silas.

"Oh, that," Silas said, noticing Dean's study. "That's just a box I keep my prayer stuff in. No real religious significance. Anyway! Dean, this is Cyrus Greaves." Silas picked up the cat, who meowed and looked even tinier in his owner's oversized arms. "But, behind closed doors, and away from my parents' ears, his name is Oren."

"...Hang on, how old  _ is _ this cat?" Dean asked, frowning.

"Four years," Silas said. "Bar mitzvah gift. Once I became a man under Jewish tradition, and my parents were no longer responsible for my mistakes, they gave me a kitten as a 'test' to prove my own responsibility. I didn't underfeed him, he's not a kitten still, he's just... tiny. Anyway, have a seat- on the bed, the stool, the floor... wherever."

"Thanks," Dean said, sitting down on the stool as Silas sat on his bed, letting Oren down onto the bed. Dean scratched the little furball behind the ears as he wandered near, and smiled a little. "So..."

"So?"

"...There's no polite way to say this," Dean said. "Why are you like this? What's  _ wrong _ with you?"

"...Did I do something wrong?" Silas asked.

"Not  _ recently, _ but just..." Dean waved his hand. "In general."

"Ah. Well, as it turns out, I actually have an answer to that: Narcissistic Personality Disorder."

Dean blinked. "...Go on?"

"It's a tale as old as time: a child is raised in a loveless environment, in which nothing they do is good enough," Silas said. "They grow up with fragile self esteem, a lot to prove, and little regard for the needs of others, as you cannot serve from an empty vessel. I won't say that communal child-rearing would completely erase this problem, but it sure as hell would've helped me if I wasn't completely reliant on Cyrus and Ariel Greaves to step up to the plate and actually be parents. Which they didn't."

"I thought it was, like... manipulation," Dean said.

"There's so many misconceptions about us Narcissists, that we're all abusive monsters," Silas said quietly, scratching Oren behind the ears. "We are  _ people. _ And we take pride in some things. Me, personally? I take pride in being a Jew. And I take pride in expressing our highest virtue,  _ chesed, _ as much as I can."

"Chesed?" Dean asked

"Loving kindness," Silas said. "How we're expected to treat each other. I will confess, I have not been... the  _ best _ at it... but I certainly put a lot of stock in the fact that I  _ tried." _

"Hang on, if you took pride in being a kind and loving person, how did you take this long to make the connection of 'being nice to people is good for making friends?'" Dean asked.

"Because I am not perfect, and you cannot serve from an empty vessel," Silas said. "Because it's all well and good for me to idolize the virtues of chesed and tzedakah and mishpat and rachamim, but these tools in the broken hands of an untaught child will do  _ nothing." _

"...Wow," Dean murmured.

"So yeah, I'm a mess 'cause my parents didn't love me," Silas said. "How about you?"

"Rich people are fucked up," Dean said. "Being able to say no to people is kinda new for me."

"Huh, how bout that. You know being conflict averse and never saying no isn't actually kindness or compassion, right?"

"Yeah, I get it. I'm learning, too."

"Here's to two young fuckups learning to be less bad at things."

"Amen- actually, wait, what do Jewish people say to signal agreement with a prayer, or. Whatever the hell 'amen' means."

"Amein," Silas said flatly.

"...So anyway, I love your cat. Very friendly, very soft."

"I knew you couldn't resist my soft pussy."

Dean groaned, tipping his head back, and Silas cackled.


	17. Heart of Gold 3.4/Post-Mortem

This chapter never really got written. That's why this draft is "incomplete."

What's supposed to happen here is that Dean finally leans on Silas and complains about his own problems, and the biggest problem is Amy.

And then Silas, who has undergone character growth, demonstrates that character growth by volunteering to do his part in stabilizing Amy and helping her pull out of the spiral. Dean suggests setting Silas up on a date with Amy, with both being aware that Amy will be supremely uninterested in Silas as a sexual or romantic partner, and instead this is just to get Amy and Silas acquainted with each other so that Silas can provide Amy with samples of his emotion tech. Mood stabilizers and the like.

However, I had no idea how to write that, and so you get this short outline slash explanation instead, to set up the next and final chapter, which relies on the knowledge that Silas is being set up on a date with Amy.

And while we're here, let's talk about Silas, and also Dean I guess, and the plans that fell through.

Yeah, Silas has NPD. That was intended from the start.

Problem is, I have a tendency to round the rough edges off my protagonists in the workshopping phase. And so by the time I got around to outlining and drafting, Silas had become a much tamer and prettier depiction of NPD- obnoxious and self-absorbed, but... I mean, I call him the evil twin, but when is he ever even so much as mean to anyone? Sarcastic, frequently, but aside from obliterating Stormtiger's spine, he never intentionally hurts anyone.

And that's a problem, because Silas was conceived to be a much uglier depiction of NPD- still a sympathetic one, because his ugliness is a result of him being in a pretty bad extended spiral and the story would've been about pulling him out of it, and why he was in it in the first place.

The problem is, I've got NPD myself, which is why I felt it so important to portray it in the protagonist, but also, when I moved to the rewrite, there were enough suddenly moving parts combining with the fact that writing about the failure state of people like me, all adding up to me burning out and no longer wanting to finish the rewrite.

This vision of Silas is not my original vision, or even my current vision. Silas was supposed to be a mean son of a bitch who you were forced to follow around until you really understood him and what made him like this, before being shown how he could be broken out of his deeply unpleasant and self-destructive mold.

In failing to portray that, I feel I've done a great disservice to my fellow narcissists- I've prettied up Silas' failings and sanded off his rough edges to make him more palatable, and in so doing I've implicitly said that he's "one of the good ones." We deserve better, and I'm sorry I failed to provide that.

As for Dean, he doesn't really have much of a character arc here. He's got a solid character flaw, that's built upon and contextualized into something like a full character, but he doesn't really change, learn, and grow. Which is a shame, and also partly because Silas was never actually mean to him.

See, Silas and Dean are foils for each other, I don't think that's anything other than obvious, especially at this point. And while Dean's served quite admirably for Silas, providing motivation and means to get better, Silas never quite tore into Dean and gave Dean his own motivations and means to get better. Dean got to remain a conflict-averse people-pleaser from beginning to end without having to change or grow a spine.

Now, obviously, having one half-decent character arc is doing pretty well for myself. But I'd tried to have two, mirroring each other, happening concurrently... and with one character I was clearly more invested in than the other. (And then there's the fact I'm new to this outlining stuff and  _ man _ do I need more practice at it.)

Maybe one day I'll return to this story and do it properly, the way I'd originally intended to. It'd be longer. I might pare Dean away as one of the two main characters, and focus more on Silas- his character was conceived in relation to Dean's, but that doesn't mean I  _ have _ to tell an ambitious entwined tale of two simultaneous yet opposed character arcs.

Or maybe I'll evict Silas entirely and do a wholly Dean-centric character study. Probably not, because I'm more attached to Silas than to Dean, but it's possible.

But, for the time being, this story is as done as it's going to be. It's not what I wanted it to be. But hopefully it's still something worthwhile.

Some design notes:

-Dean's vial mutation was turning his eyes blue. Most vial mutations that aren't noticeable are something like that, or giving people weird new birthmarks, or other things that are perfectly normal for people to have.

-Silas' physical appearance was styled after Doc Savage, the Man of Bronze. Part of this is because of my affection for old-school pulp, and part of this is because Doc Savage used to have a lobotomy habit, and Silas is a Brain Tinker who very much could've lobotomized people into no longer being criminals.

-Originally, there was going to be a reversal of "Silas is jealous of Dean" that we saw after we explored and establish Dean being jealous of Silas, but that was part of the whole "Silas is in the spiral" thing that I tried and failed to do in the second draft.

-Silas Greaves is the name of the protagonist in Call of Juarez: Gunslinger. I used his name as a placeholder because it was better than Ned Fieldstone and then I couldn't come up with anything better, so it stuck. It's not an attempt to say they're basically the same character. They have nothing in common besides being American men named Silas Greaves with violent professions- and even then, Gunslinger's Silas was a bounty hunter seeking revenge for his dead brothers. Knight's Silas is a cop.


	18. Heart of Gold 3.5

"Man, this place is  _ dead," _ Victoria muttered, glancing around at the near-desolate mall as they made their way towards the food court, which turned out to be on the floor below them.

"Well, yeah. I mean, who the hell goes to the mall at noon on a  _ Thursday?" _ Silas asked. "Aside from us assholes, with our fucked-up schedules. I swear to god, all I told them was that I couldn't work past sundown on Friday, I did  _ not _ say 'please waste my entire Friday afternoon every week until I turn 18.'"

"That's how it goes in our line of work," Dean said with a shrug as they approached the escalators. "I- darling, n- oh my god."

Victoria turned to face him as she walked onto the escalator. "Wha- shit!" She slipped, having stepped onto the up escalator, pushing her foot back and out from under her, and began tumbling down the up escalator, rolling and rattling in a tug-of-war between gravity and escalation.

Silas wheezed, doubling over with laughter, and Dean groaned, shaking his head and moving on with his life, taking the down escalator, and watching as Victoria effortlessly started to keep pace with him.

The two reached the bottom at the same time, Silas a few seconds behind, still giggling and a little teary-eyed.

"Silas, as you may have gathered, Victoria is a fan of slapstick," Dean said. "She interprets her flight and invincibility as license to pratfall down every set of stairs she comes across."

"Because it's  _ funny," _ Victoria said, folding her arms. "Good to see  _ someone _ appreciates me around here."

"So- so wait-" Silas paused to giggle some more. "Did you 'forget' where the food court was, and lead us up the escalator,  _ just _ so you could do that?"

"So anyway! I'm feelin' Auntie Anne's, myself," Victoria said, ignoring his question.

"Oh, I see how it is," Silas said.

"I think I'll get some pizza, myself," Dean said. "Silas?"

"Chinese food for me," Silas said. "They're...  _ weirdly _ good at keeping kosher."

"I mean, as long as you don't order the pork," Victoria said.

"Kosher's more than just that," Silas said. "You're not allowed to eat meat and dairy at the same time, either. Cheeseburgers? No pork, still not kosher."

"Huh."

"And chinese food is not typically known for containing dairy," Silas said. "...Well, the stuff we get here in the States, anyways. China's a big place with a lot of different cultures and cuisines."

"Yeah, fair."

"Anyway, where's your sister... uh... fuck, what's her name... Armenia?"

"Amy."

"Right, that one. Where is she?"

"Said she had to stop by the bank, didn't want you picking up her tab," Victoria said.

"That's fair," Silas said with a shrug. "Hrm. You know, people always give Texas shit for having Texas-shaped everything-"

"Wait, really?" Victoria asked.

"Yep, they've got Texas-shaped tortilla chips, Texas-shaped belt buckles, all sorts of bullshit," Silas said, nodding.

"That's so tacky, I love it. Dean, can we move to Texas?"

"Maybe one day," Dean said, in the tone of voice that meant "over my dead body."

"I wasn't finished," Silas said. "But  _ nobody _ ever talks about how Colorado is so full of themselves, they build Colorado-shaped  _ houses _ and  _ grocery stores _ and  _ office buildings." _

"Jesus, do they re-" Dean blinked. "...Silas, Colorado is a rectangle."

"And? What of it?"

"Silas, I gotta say, you are the funniest man alive," Victoria said.

"He's not the funniest man alive, he's just you but flatchested," Dean protested.

"You've clearly never seen me shirtless," Silas said.

"And I'd prefer it stay that way."

"Your loss."

"Can I-"

"No," Dean and Silas said in unison.

"Aw man," Victoria muttered, shoving her hands in her pockets and kicking aimlessly at the ground. "I  _ never _ get to have any fun."

"Sorry hon, but for the time being, I'm taken," Silas said. "...Also, so are you."

"Hey, the rule is look but don't touch," Victoria said. "I'm in the clear."

"Not unless I'm allowed to go to a strip club, you're not," Dean said.

"...That depends on how well you tip."

"Oh my good lord-"

"Hey, you rich fuckers should be paying for people's college  _ anyways," _ Silas pointed out. "If you gotta be tricked into doing that with titties, well... not  _ ideal, _ but-"

"Can we  _ please _ talk about something else?" Dean asked.

"You brought it up," Silas said.

"That's what she said," Victoria said.

"Er, I mean, you raised the subject."

"That's what she said!"

"How does anyone tolerate you?"

"For the most part, they don't."

"Hang on, I don't-" Dean began.

"Boners," Silas said.

"They go up," Victoria said sagely.

"Oh," Dean said hollowly.

"Anyhow. Pretzel time," Victoria said, lifting up off the ground and heading back up to the second floor, because for some godforsaken reason, Auntie Anne's wasn't near the actual food court.

"...So are they both like that?" Silas asked.

"No, her sister's just an asshole," Dean said. "Not even the funny kind, like you."

"Hey, I resemble that remark," Silas said.

"You're  _ sure _ you want to go through with this?" Dean asked. "This isn't exactly going to be fun for you, I don't imagine."

"Oh, very probably not," Silas said, nodding. "But, the hell kind of man would I be if I refused to help someone just because it wasn't fun? If Amy needs a therapist, she needs a therapist. And I'm... going to try and talk her into seeing one."

"What, not gonna be one yourself?"

"I might provide a few shortcuts," Silas admitted. "A wristband that prevents mood swings won't necessarily  _ cure _ anything, but it sure as hell might help. But... if there's anything I've learned from you, it's that my tech is only  _ sort of _ a shortcut. There's... still gonna be a lot of work ahead of us, but... Well. With your help... I like my chances."

"You sure about that?" Dean asked, before Silas threw an arm around his shoulders.

"With my best friend? How can I be anything but positive?"


	19. Epilogue

_Forty five minutes later..._

"Jesus _christ,_ Bitch," Brian said. "Did you _really_ have to rip off Valiant's arm?"

"Motherfucker wouldn't go down," Rachel said.

"That's what she sa-" Alec began.

"Shut up."


End file.
